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- 13 EXAMINATION 

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Mr. DUFIEP’S 

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WITH A CRITICISM 

; UPON HIS 

System ana JHoiic of ^cnrfjinjj ftanflttaDca. 


IN FOUR LEXTERS. 


BY JOHN MANESCA, 


FRENCH TEACHER, No. 24 LIBERTY-STREET. 



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NEW-YORK: 

PRINTED BY CLAYTON & VAN NORDEN, 
Wo- 64 Pine-street• 


1825. 






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My eountrymen who live in this country, the natives whose esteem 
and friendship I have the advantage of enjoying ; finally, all men who have at 
heart the diffusion of truths which may be useful to the art of teaching in ge¬ 
neral, are respectfully requested to promote the circulation of these letters, so 
far as they may think them conducive to that end. 


LETTER I 


Mr. Dufief, 

We are all weak and limited beings ; all more or 
less subject to physical and moral evils; and all prone to occa¬ 
sional intellectual aberrations : no one, therefore, who is possessed of 
a moderate share of humility, and feels the infirmities of his nature, 
will wantonly sneer at those whom Heaven has visited with inevita¬ 
ble misfortunes of any kind, and, least of all, at those who, with 
honest intentions, labour under any mental obliquity. But if 
nothing could excuse him, how much soever entitled to our pity 
and assistance, who, afflicted with a contagion, would wilfully ex¬ 
pose his fellow mortals to the same calamity, how much more de¬ 
serving of our reproof is he, w ho exerts his utmost endeavours to 
spread abroad his errors, and corrupt the minds of others ! In both 
cases, I apprehend, it is the duty of every individual to warn the 
community of the danger, and, as far as his abilities enab ie him, 
to point out the best means to avoid it. 

The latter case, sir, is precisely yours ; and if at this moment I 
step between you and the public, it is not with any premeditated in¬ 
tention to reproach you, or to cause you any pain ; it is, merely to 
put society on their guard against the dangerous consequences of 
your errors. 

[ have chosen the epistolary form of style, because it appears to 
me best suited to my limited knowledge of the English language ; 
and as, in controverting a doctrine, it is impossible to avoid speak¬ 
ing of its author, I fancied that it would be more consonant with 
propriety, to address my letters to you personally. 

You have already attributed to selfish motives the censure I be¬ 
fore directed against your mode of teaching, and you may possi¬ 
bly reiterate, in this instance, your former charge; I will, there¬ 
fore, candidly, and once for all, answer it, stale and idle as it is. 

I have frequently heard, in the course of my life, most solemn 
protestations of disinterestedness, but I never heard them from 
the most disinterested people; nor have I often seen them produce 
any effect but upon the simpleton, who knew not that self-interest 
is the twin-brother of time, and as old as the world. That the 
motives, by which I am here actuated, have some relation to my 
own interest, cannot be a matter of surprise to sensible men, whilst 
my assertions to the contrary could but create their suspicions, 
and excite their contempt. I therefore frankly declare, that, as a 


teacher of the French language, who has for seventeen years, 
duously and honestly laboured in his profession, it is my interest 
to enlighten the public mind upon a subject little understood, in 
order to enable it to distinguish and appreciate true merit wherever 
it may happen to be found. You see, sir, that my interest coin¬ 
cides with the interest of others, and is in perfect harmony with 
that of society: I sincerely wish you could say as much to your 
advantage. 

It would be unavailing to object, that, if your system of teach¬ 
ing is erroneous, and your Nature Displayed good for nothing, 
they must both fall by their own inertness, and, consequent¬ 
ly, deserve no criticism ; for I beg you to observe, that 
what is absurd and mischievous does not appear so to every eye. 
This is the reason why error, let it be ever so preposterous, and 
its existence ever so ephemeral, is not the less to be dreaded. Your 
errors particularly are such as to cause infinite evils before and 
after they are exploded. 

Had not D’Alembert asserted, that “ to acquire a language, the 
only thing necessary is, to learn a dictionary by heart;” if, in your 
youth, you had not read, that “ a language is nothing but a series 
of sentences that “ children learn their mother tongue by whole 
sentences, and by heart;” or, if the fallacy of those erroneous pre¬ 
mises of yours had been demonstrated as soon as they were pub¬ 
licly asserted, it is'very probable, that their baneful effects would 
not now be the scourge of the present generation, whom you would 
have spared the poisonous homage of your Nature Displayed. 

When I reflect on the importance of the matter with respect to its 
tendency upon the mind, and the art of teaching in general, I feel 
not a little proud, that among many able men, my professional 
brethren in this country, it has fallen to ray lot to expunge those 
unsound and pernicious notions which you are labouring, w 7 ith so 
much industry, and not altogether unsuccessfully, to spread among 
the community ; and, at the same time, I cannot help thinking that 
I shall not be a little indebted to you for the honour which may 
happen to be the reward of my labours and success; consequently, 
without considering whether in this, your agency be direct or 
indirect, voluntary or not, l beg you to allow me to express here, 
by anticipation of gratitude, my sincere wish that I may succeed 
% in converting your mind to more rational principles. But, alas! 
I dare not entertain the least hope of bringing about that happy re¬ 
volution ; at your period of life, when a man has for so great a 
number of years adopted and cherished errors, which have, in some 
sort, become identified with his interest and feelings, it is folly to expect 
him to part with them, until he shall make his final exit from this 
sublunary world. Sound arguments, genuine syllogisms, have as 
little effect upon certain minds, as milk of roses, or almond paste 
would, in restoring to their primitive softness and colour, the tar- 
saturated hands of an old weather-beaten sailor. 


It has already been premised, that my only purpose in writing 
the present letters, is to expose the folly of your doctrine, and ani¬ 
madvert upon your professional creed and deeds. The respect I 
owe to myself, my duty to the public, and charity towards a fellow 
creature, are sure pledges, that I shall not step beyond the range 
of literary censure, and expose myself to be reproached with ha¬ 
ving caused to you any mortification, besides that which you may 
experience from that censure, and for which I cannot, with justice, 
be blamed or made responsible. 

Before a tribunal endued with the faculty of appreciating hu¬ 
man feelings, and empowered to judge accordingly, a little depar¬ 
ture from my intended moderation, might, perhaps, find indulgence 
and mercy; for it would not probably condemn me, without having 
dispassionately weighed the natural effects of your long settled 
resolution, to put down all teachers who would not teach after 
your method; but no such tribunal exists, and I will not appeal to 
your heart. After all, it is long since I pardoned you for your un¬ 
kind scheme, because experience showed me, that you were actuated 
by a very laudable, philanthropic enthusiasm, which induced you to 
think that starving a few teachers, was a cheap return for the im¬ 
measurable benefits you intended to confer upon mankind. 

Yet, I confess, it was not without some difficulty I could recon¬ 
cile my mind to the belief that you were in earnest in your preten¬ 
sions concerning teaching. “ It is possible,” said I to myself, “ that 
when yet but a brainless youth, he realiy thought he had made a 
matchless discovery; but now, in the autumn of his life, enriched with 
experience, matured by reflection ; now, that his mind has medita¬ 
ted upon the nature, constitution, and practical use of a living 
language, is it possible, unless he is entirely deaf to the voice of 
common sense, that he should sincerely believe that a whole, nay, 
any fraction of a practical language, can be compressed within the 
limits of an octavo, and that the learning by heart of that octavo, 
supposing it practicable, will insure, in thirty-six, or any number of 
lessons, the practical knowledge of that living language ? No,” 
thought I, " he might as wellbelieve that the science of arithmetic may 
be found in an octavo, full of numbers, and that the learning by heart 
of these numbers, would teach the science of arithmetic, that is, 
teach the faculty of combining and expressing numbers !” In 
short, such appears to me the absurdity of your system and book, 
that rather than suspect that your mind was so far decayed as not 
to be sensible of so palpable a fact, I concluded that you were a wi¬ 
ly experimenter upon the credulity of your fellow mortals. I crave 
vour pardon, sir, for the mistake; for I soon altered my mind. 
By reading your book with attention, and closely observing 
your professional conduct, I was presented with too many opportu¬ 
nities for ascertaining the extent and depth of your understanding, 
to doubt any longer of the sincerity of your professions. You are 


sincere: nobody ought to entertain the smallest doubt of it, after 
your repeated assertions that the public is very much enlightened 
upon matters of teaching; for with so high an opinion of the pub¬ 
lic’s tact at discrimination in abstract subjects, you would most 
certainly not enjoy a moment’s rest about the ultimate fate of your 
book, if you did not honestly and piously believe them to be what 
you assert, namely, the precious offspring of a real genius. 

Compelled, as I am, to the painful task of undeceiving you con¬ 
cerning your book and doctrine, I shall have, at least, the gratifica¬ 
tion of tranquilizing your mind upon those discriminating powers 
which you fancy the public possess in so high a degree. 

The public, taken collectively, understands nothing about so in¬ 
tricate a subject as teaching is ; and when it is led to any prefer¬ 
ence with respect to teachers, it either obeys the impulse, which, in 
the long run, real success seldom fails to create ; or it suffers itself 
to be carried along with the tide of factitious fame. Individually, 
every member of the community has his own particular callings, 
out of the circle of which, how intelligent and well informed soever 
he may otherwise be, he can hardly exert his judgment, still less 
trust it. 

Even the great names you delight so much in bringing forward, 
could not be vouchers in favour of your works, granting that the re¬ 
spectable personages who possess them, had had the courage to ex¬ 
amine thoroughly the abstruse and intricate contents of your Na¬ 
ture Displayed ; for do not imagine, sir, that statesmen, magis¬ 
trates, lawyers, physicians, divines, are better qualified to be judges 
in the art of teaching, than architects, apothecaries, silversmiths, 
or merchants. Indeed, I know of a man whose approbation of your 
book and system would have raised your fame sky-high, a man 
whose head, in such matters, has more weight than a whole living 
generation : I wonder you never thought of bringing over from 
Europe a genuine certificate from Pestalozzi; with such a docu¬ 
ment, you could have scornfully laughed at any challenge, I, or 
any other antagonist, might have sent you. 

This disability of the public to judge in certain matters, accounts 
for those exalted reputations, under the illegitimate sway of which, 
the world is kept for a while in reverential admiration, till a few 
individuals appear to constitute a competent jury, whose verdict, at 
last, echoing from mouth to mouth, blows away the spurious fame 
which,— 

(( Like the baseless fabric of a vision, leaves not a rack behind.” 

It cannot be denied, that there is something imposing in a big 
book, which keeps in awe the stoutest critic. People, who take for 
granted that its bulk and weight are sure prognostics of the depth 
of its contents, are pretty well disposed to conclude that the author 
is a great man, and the wary, who do not share in the conceit, are 
jealous detractors. I am fully aware that the task which I am im- 


posing upon myself is by no means an easy one. When truth and 
error are within the apprehension of men, neither requires demon¬ 
stration ; like light and darkness, they strike all mortals before 
whose eyes they happen to be placed : but when they are buried 
under a heap of rubbish, besides the skill requisite to bring them 
within the perception of all, an uncommon share of industry, cou¬ 
rage, and perseverance is indispensable. 

In the letter I had the pleasure to write to you in January last, I 
endeavoured to show the preposterousness of your notions and pre¬ 
tensions, by a plain sort of reasoning a posteriori , suited to all 
classes of readers, to every capacity, and the consequence of which 
might have been deduced by the weakest intellect in the communi¬ 
ty ; yet you saw or feigned to see in it, a mere flimsy ebullition of a 
jealous rival, w ho had in vain looked after more philosophical ar¬ 
guments. Now, sir, since you will have it so, 1 must use a dialec¬ 
tic of a more regular character. I shall try, in the present letters, 
to treat the subject in a manner more agreeable to that portion of 
society which has more leisure to think and reflect upon abstract 
matters, and whose opinions direct those of the rest. To those 
persons, I will endeavour to show, that a spoken and written lan¬ 
guage, either considered in a practical or theoretical point of 
view, as a branch of knowledge, is by no means such a trifle as 
you would have people to believe; that no cheapness of teaching 
can make up for the mischievous consequences of learning badly; 
that the principles upon which your system is grounded are false ; 
and, in short, that your mode of instruction, adapted to the 
French, or any other language , as expounded in that production of 
yours, miscalled , Nature Displayed , is preposterous, impotent, and 
frightfully dangerous. 

J. MANESCA, 

French Teacher, No. 24 Liberty-Street. 

Neiv-Yorlc, October 6 th, 1825. 


LETTER II. 

Mr. Dufief, 

I should nevej have presumed to 1 address you thus 
publicly, in a language w hich is not my own, if I had not been 
irresistibly urged by the conviction of the importance and general 
utility of the present discussion ; this consideration will, I hope, 
plead for me, and induce liberal minded men to forgive me for my 
temerity. 

No one is more aware than I am, of the difficulties to be en¬ 
countered by him who undertakes to communicate his thoughts 
through the medium of a foreign language. Like the dwarf who 
has been intrusted with the sword of a giant, I am, at this very 



8 


moment, overwhelmed with the weight of the weapon that 1 ant 
timidly wielding. At almost every period, I find myself at a 
loss in the selection of the terms proper to represent my ideas, and 
like the forlorn and hungry traveller, cast upon a desert island, 
amidst noxious and nutritive plants, equally unknown to him, I must 
leave it to chance or a blind instinct to determine my choice. There¬ 
fore! need, and I crave indulgence; and still, sir, although I have not 
had the advantage of being taught the English after your method, 
I can truly say that I am an old scholar. 

Yet, if we take your word, you have made the acquirement (1) 
of a living language a mere trifle ; the French and Spanish, through 
the means of your Nature Displayed , can easily be communicated 
from one single individual , to any number of human beings— the 
more the better ; and any person, no matter of what sex or age, no 
matter whether wise or foolish, ignorant or well-informed, will, af¬ 
ter a few school recitations, master the language, and have it at 
his command as readily as a song. Sir, if this is true, you are a 
demi-god ; if false, what are you ? 

Should a reflecting man be asked, what language is, would he 
not be inclined to define it as a sage of old defined eternity ; viz. 
an immense circle, the centre of which is every where, and its 
circumference no where ? For what is language, but an infinite 
series of combinations of signs to represent an infinite series of 
ideas, incessantly succeeding each other in the human mind ? Yet 
you pretend that a limited number of combinations, ready made, 
and learned by heart, (2) will constitute the knowledge of a lan¬ 
guage ! 

(1) A French Ear, as Mr. Dufief calls it, means nothing, .or it signi¬ 
fies at least, that he will in 36 lessons, make better scholars than other teach¬ 
ers. “ His scholars,” he says, “ will be superior to any one, who, having for 
one year, studied the French in Paris, should, besides, have had, between his 
lessons, the advantage of practising with the natives.” Nay, Mr. D.’s pu¬ 
pils, after their 36 lessons, are to know so much of the language, to understand it 
so well, to master it so readily, that they want no such thing as boarding, for 
some time, in a French family, in order to practise and become more familiar 
with the language. This boarding in French families, he intimates , is a trick of 
unsuccessful teachers, who thus get rid of their scholars, and afterwards take 
to themselves credit for the progress which their pupils may have made in 
their intercourse with French natives. 

(£) The expression to “ learn by heart,” as it is generally understood, as 
Mr. Dufief understands it, and finally, as I understand it, signifies to repeat, 
over and over, in rotation from the book, and with as much attention as pos¬ 
sible, a series of words or phrases, or whatever is to be committed to 
memory, till by dint of repetition, such series of words or sentences are so 
well associated in the mind, that, at any future period, without the assistance of 
the book, that series of words or phrases will recur to the mind, in the very 
same order in ivhich they have been learned. Now, I say, that this is not na¬ 
ture’s mode of teaching. I maintain and I shall prove, that he who teaches a 
language in this manner, understands nothing about the relations which exist 
between language and the human mind, is a perfect stranger to the nature 
of memory, and that, far from obtaining any success, he must produce all the 
evils which are the necessary consequences of an infringement of nature’s laws. % 




You speak of nature’s method; you flatter yourself that you 
have discovered her mysterious process ; how has it not come into 
your mind, that even a whole life might be too short for the learn¬ 
ing of a language after that cautious teacher’s system ? Has your 
wisdom never suggested to you, that notwithstanding her match 
less skill, nature can impart language but in an exact ratio with the 
expansion of the mind, and that at the age of one year, two, three, 
four, or more years, she never allows her pupil (because it is im¬ 
possible that she should) more faculty of expression than he has 
ideas to express ? The result of that inimitable process is, that as 
a man is growing up, nay, at any time of his life, besides his prac¬ 
tising, he is also learning his mother tongue, so long as he is ac¬ 
quiring new ideas, and that he never knows all the vernacular lan¬ 
guage, if his mind has not received all known ideas. 

Language is so immense, so complicated an instrument; the 
faculty of playing upon that instrument is so wonderful, and the 
means to be resorted to in order to communicate that faculty are 
so intricate, and require so much art and caution, that nature has 
not willed, that the teaching of our native tongue should be entrust¬ 
ed to human professorships; yet, sir, you will teach airy grown 
person to express the infinite number of his ideas in less time than 
nature requires to enable a child two years old to stammer out 
its few scanty ideas ! 

Any man a little familiar with this subject, can perceive at once, 
that your system was built upon a few borrowed notions, the sound¬ 
ness of which you never took the trouble to question. It is not in 
books, sir, that nature should be studied ; it is by retiring within 
our own minds; it is by closely observing the links of attributes 
which are the sources of our perceptions. Nature is not a lady, 
as you have gallantly, but very unphilosophically entitled her ; na¬ 
ture is the whole series of causes and effects, or rather of antece¬ 
dents and consequents; and when we are told that something is, it 
behooves us before we believe, to ascertain by our oivn observa¬ 
tions, whether the assertion is warranted by the relations existing 
between such series. The vulgar too frequently sutler others 
to think for them ; but the man of sense, he particularly, who has 
any pretension to teach his fellow mortals, should not imitate the 
vulgar. No human authority whatever, should excuse him from 
examining that which is offered for his assent. 

The reading man who is not endowed with the inestimable fa¬ 
culty of thinking, will ever be the dull echo of others. I will not 
assert, that your great taste, when you were young, for abstract 
reading, is the very cause which now deprives you of all title to 
public regard ; but I cannot forbear to give it as my opinion, that 
it is to be lamented you had no better guide than yourself in the 
choice of the intellectual food which your iuvenile mind found in 

2 


the books of Locke, Condillac, D’Alembert, Stewart, &c.; for, un¬ 
able to comprehend and profit by the precious truths which those 
great men have revealed to mankind, you too eagerly adopted a 
few errors, the tribute of which, as mortals, they have paid to hu¬ 
manity ; errors that might have for ever remained in oblivion, 
had it not been your ill-fated lot to revive and disseminate them, 
with their monstrous progeny, among your contemporaries. 
Persons to whom I have not the advantage to be personally known, 
might, perhaps, imagine, that animated by a spirit of rivalship, 1 
am disposed to exaggerate your incapacity, and magnify the ab¬ 
surdity of your notions, in order the more effectually to prejudice 
the public against your book and your method of teaching ; there¬ 
fore, I beg them to open your “ Nature Displayed ,” and suffer 
me to expose to their view’ the most remarkable features of that 
singular philosophy, which has led you to your extraordinary 
mode of teaching. 

First, let us observe this quotation from Dugald Stewart , at the 
bottom of the 1 3th page of your preface , 5th edition : “ Many au¬ 
thors have spoken of the wonderful mechanism of speech, but no 
one has hitherto attended to the more wonderful mechanism which 
is put into action behind the scene.” 

Well, there is no man who, after reading this in your book, 
wouid not have concluded that you were a sound proselyte to 
genuine philosophy ; I, for my part, thought so myself, when I 
first saw that you had quoted so notable a saying of the Edin¬ 
burgh philosopher; but alas, I was soon convinced that it is easier to 
make quotations, than to comprehend and profit by them. Only 
let us look at the 12th page, and we shall have a specimen of 
your metaphysics. 

“ If vve attentively observe the mind in the operation of think¬ 
ing, we immediately become sensible that it consists entirely in 
speaking to itself that is to say, in pronouncing mentally whole 
sentences, without which thoughts could neither exist , nor be noti¬ 
ced by itself ; and that thinking is nothing else .” 

As I am a poor judge of English, 1 leave American readers to 
form their own estimate of the clearness and beauty of the 
above sentence; it is not for the letter , it is for the spirit that I 
shall res rve my encomium. 

Then, sir, considering that thinking is nothing but speaking , par¬ 
rots must be deep thinkers ; dumb people, of course, do not think 
at all; children, before they begin to speak, have no thoughts, no 
minds ! This is a glorious philosophy for tattlers of all sexes, 
times, and countries! I wonder, however, what could induce man¬ 
kind to contrive language, since there was no thinking antecedent 
to speaking ! 

On the same page, 13th, we read the following admirable corol- 
Jary to the above pithy proposition ■: 


il 


ci These propositions being allowed, and they me incontrovertible, 
it follows that memory can scarcely be said to exist in the mind, 
without the external ear, which supplies it with sounds that are re¬ 
peated mentally, when the act of thinking takes place.” 

Now, sir, I have nothing to do with your or any other man’s or¬ 
thodoxy, and if, enpassant, I make so free as to observe, that your 
philosophy concerning the mind smacks somewhat of material¬ 
ism, it is only to remind you, in case you send your books to 
Spain, to make the Dons pay you beforehand, for they do not 
joke upon the matter; and your JYature Displayed might well ex¬ 
perience at their hands a rather too warm expression of their fond¬ 
ness for auto defe . 

To return to your corollary : “ without the external ear,’ 7 you 
say, “ there is scarcely any memory in the mind.” 

There is something incontrovertibly curious in this philosophy ; 
let us see again : “ no speaking, no thinking, no mind ; no external 
ear, no speaking, no mind; therefore, no external ear, scarcely 
any memory.” 

I have scarcely any snuff in my snuff-box. That man has 
scarcely sufficient modesty to restrain him from saying, that he is 
an unrivalled genius. In both these sentences, the adverb scarcely 
implies, of course, positively some: there is some snuff, and there 
are some remains of modesty; your scarcely, therefore, signifies 
likewise, a little portion of memory. Now, only think of a small 
portion of the memory in the mind of a man who has no mind! a 
little remembering of no ideas. But, after all, why should the 
Irish have the exclusive privilege of making bulls? 

At any rate, hares have most potent memories, jack-asses too; 
dumb people, who, as it is allowed, have no mind, and do not think 
at all, possess scarcely any. All this is assuredly incontrovertible. 

After this, you may, indeed, well exclaim : “ I fearlessly chal¬ 
lenge all the instructors in Europe and America, to point out what 
elementary principle of education lias been omitted or overlooked, 
and in what this system can be at variance with itself.” 

Be comforted, sir ; it would puzzle longer eared folks than they 
are, to find your system at variance with itself; a system so per¬ 
fectly consistent, so admirably harmonized, so much itself! poor 
souls ! they will no more think of accepting your challenge, than 
you thought of answering mine, which you received last January. 

How incontrovertible soever your system appeared to your 
mind’s ears, having less confidence in the capacity of those of your 
fellow men, you thought that a few difficulties apparently started 
by your antagonists, and smartly retorted by you, would set it off 
to better advantage; you therefore so shaped five objections, that 
you could answer them in such a manner as to strike dutjib the 
longest eared intellects. 


12 


We will content ourselves to take notice of the first, which de¬ 
serves all our attention. 

“ That the ordinary mode of teaching language by the study 
of grammar , is entirely discarded, and grammar is merely an ac¬ 
cessary, not a principal.” 

This objection, viewed in its proper light, is forcible and is 
unanswerable 5 for the word grammar , taken in its real acceptation, 
does not mean rules or classifications, neither does it signify con¬ 
jugations of verbs, declensions of nouns and pronouns ; but gram¬ 
mar , in its true signification, is the combining and composing of 
signs, in order to represent our ideas, which, like the views in the 
kaleidoscope, are constantly changing and varying. Now, sir, 
if we consider the term in this light, the objection which you set 
up against yourself, becomes an unequivocal censure of your me¬ 
thod of teaching, which presents nothing but sentences, en masse , 
already combined, to be learned by heart, that is, in other words, 
to be learned ungrammatically. 

How then have you dared to bring up so formidable, so over¬ 
whelming an objection ? Does the gladiator turn his deadly wea¬ 
pon against his own breast? No: but by skilfully substituting in 
your category, the figurative meaning of the word grammar for 
its proper sense, you rendered the objection foolish and harmless, 
and its refutation a mere slight-of-hand, w r hich had the appearance 
of a triumph. 

“ In considering this objection,” say you, “ it is necessary, first, 
to inquire what is the nature of grammar .” 

At the reading of this fair beginning, who would not think that 
you are going to pronounce your doom ? But your reader is soon 
made quite easy upon this score. 

“ Does grammar,” you continue, “ contain the materials of lan¬ 
guage?” To that question your answer is, “ certainly not.” 

Like the oracle of Delphi, your dialectic wants a little helping. 
When you ask whether grammar contains the materials of language, 
you surely mean to say, is grammar among the materials of lan¬ 
guage? Would you say, bricks contain the materials of houses? 
Bricks are some of the materials, but they do not contain the ma¬ 
terials of houses. Let us then establish your question upon a 
better footing, with respect to English and rationality, and pre¬ 
sent it under the following form : 

“ Is grammar among the materials of language ?” To which 
you gravely answer, “ certainly not” 

Yet other men would have replied: “ it most certainly is.” 
Listen to their reasons, sir: “If grammar is the combining of the 
signs which represent our ideas, as there can be no language with¬ 
out this combination, grammar is in language, what extension, 
form, and existence are in bodies, and it is nonsense to say that 
grammar is not among the materials of language, since the latter 


13 


could not exist without it; consequently, grammar is among the 
materials of language . 

How is it then, that your “ certainly not” which is the extreme 
opposite of common sense, does not, at first, appear so. even to an 
inattentive reader ? Because, in your premises, you childishly or 
adroitly presented the word grammar in its figurative sense, by 
which substitution, the question assumes in the mind of the reader 
the following shape : 

“ Are the books called grammars , the materials of language 
as an answer to which, he does not even think of questioning the 
propriety of your “ certainly not,” particularly, if he considers 
the admirahle consequences he is suddenly enabled to deduce from 
so useful a piece of information. 

For instance : Is the dictionary of music of J. J. Rousseau a 
symphony Certainly not . Is a treatise on architecture a pa¬ 
lace Certainly not. Is the family cook-book among the mate¬ 
rials of a plum pudding, or a fricassee of chickens ? Indeed not l 
Thus it is, that a spark from true genius produces a thousand 
lights, dispelling the darkness in which human intellect is im¬ 
mersed ! 

But, sir, because you teach without the assistance of those books 
called grammars, which it must be allowed, are “ certainly not ” 
among the materials of language, is it a sufficient reason that your 
book, instead of calling which a grammar, you have dignified with 
the appellation of Nature Displayed, should be among the mate¬ 
rials of language ? Because, like you , nature uses none of these 
books called grammars, must we admit that you teach like her 
who teaches without your book ? One might as soon maintain that, 
as neither you nor I wear wigs, we have the same way of think¬ 
ing! Nature, in short, imparts the knowledge of language without 
the assistance of books, yet she teaches grammatically, because 
her pupils learn how to compose the language ; w hereas, your scho¬ 
lars learning by heart your book, full of sentences already com¬ 
posed, most incontrovertibly learn ungrammatically, which, in 
plain common language, signifies to learn nothing but a most ri¬ 
diculous gibberish. 

After having presented your contemporaries with this precious 
aphorism, that books are not the materials of language, you pro¬ 
ceed, with your wonted sagacity, to inform them what those mate¬ 
rials really are. 

“ Phrases,” you say, “ constitute the materials of language, 
without w hich it is impossible to speak or to write.” 

This is what one might call an equilateral apothegm, the three 
angles of which are admirably supported by the relative ivhich. 

Look at this, sir : “ It is impossible to speak or write without 
language 


14 


Now at this : “ It is impossible to speak or write without the ma¬ 
terials of language 

And lastly, at this angle: “ It is impossible to speak or write 
ivithout phrases .” 

Blush, ye envious rivals! but start not when you see him whose 
philosophy is so firmly seated, place himself, sans ceremonie, be¬ 
tween Locke and Newton! 

Apropos, sir, you do not tell us how phrases constitute language. 
Is it as square feet of cloth constitute a great coat? as cubic in¬ 
ches of bones and flesh constitute men? Is it as bricks are the 
materials of houses, and the latter the materials of the city of New- 
York? If so, it must follow, that a certain number of square feet 
of cloth will constitute a great coat, no matter how they are res¬ 
pectively disposed; it follows, also, that, provided we join toge¬ 
ther, in any way, a number of cubic inches of bones, flesh, &c. we 
shall have as perfect a man as ever knew how to talk before he be¬ 
gan to think. In short, if phrases constitute language, as bricks 
constitute houses, you must concede that any one is the present 
owner of a snug building, if he only possesses a number of bricks 
sufficient to build a house. Such, sir, are the consequences of 
your assertion, that phrases constitute the materials of language . 
Nay, they are more consistent with their conclusions; for you can 
easily be the real master of the necessary quantity of bricks, the 
possession of which, according to your doctrine, would render you 
the actual owner of any building to your liking ; whereas you 
have not proved that your book contains all the phrases which 
constitute language; and it is evident to any man, who reflects for 
a moment, that it is impossible, after your mode of teaching, to 
become the real master of the thousandth part of your sentences. 

It is thus, sir, that in science as in every thing else, a first devi¬ 
ation from the right path leads us, at every step, to misconstruc¬ 
tion and error. That unfortunate notion of yours, that language 
is nothing but phrases , may be considered as the centripetal force 
by which the whole of your system is kept together, and after the 
destruction of which, all must tumble down; and I heartily wish, 
that y ; ou may find a sufficient consolation for the disappointment 
this will cause you, in the gratifying idea that your system is to 
be overturned by the destruction of that central force, after the an¬ 
nihilation of which, the universe itself could not stand a moment. 

Look around, sir; observe, for a moment, with close attention, 
the beings and things which compose nature, and you will be com¬ 
pelled to acknow ledge, that beings and things are not merely the 
sum of certain parts arbitrarily defined, but that they are the result 
of the combination of their minutest parts ,* which minutest parts 9 
together with their respective and general combinations, constitute real 
existence. There is nothing, therefore, which is a mere aggregate ; 


15 


every thing is the effect of a specific combination, without ivhich “chaos 
would come again.” There is no being whose existence is inde¬ 
pendent of the respective and general relations of its minutest parts. 
He who creates, combines; he learns nothing, who learns not how 
to combine. Analysis, (3) (by the by, you speak a great deal of 

(3) The word analysis , for which Mr D. seems to have a great liking, is pa¬ 
raded, in his book, in every possible attitude, amidst a constellation of great 
names, both ancient and modern ; but all that show is not reasoning ; and the 
names of Aristotle, Bacon, Locke, &c. a thousand times repeated, will never 
give respectability to error. 

It is not through analysis that intellectual beings receive ideas, for ideas are 
indivisible. Analysis never produces positive knowledge, except when the ob¬ 
ject which is submitted to it, is previously known, as well as its elementary parts. 
It is never resorted to but by those who already know, when they see them, the 
constituent parts of the object which they are analyzing ; and when the opera¬ 
tion is done, ft is beneficial only, so far as the elementary parts discovered are 
familiar to the operator; for, should there happen to bean elementary part un¬ 
known,-no knowledge would result from the circumstance, except that some 
unknown thing had been perceived Analysis gives instruction and satisfac¬ 
tion to an intelligent being, already informed of the existence and character of 
the things which he finds out in the composition of an object; satisfaction, be¬ 
cause he recognises what he has already seen elsewhere ; instruction, because 
he finds that things with which he is acquainted, are the elements of that object; 
besides that, he acquires no new knowledge. Analysis of unknown things is 
the study of idiots, and the philosophy of fools. In the book of Mr Dufief, this 
high sounding word means nothing but his ignorance and want of power to un¬ 
derstand the books which he has read. 

I ask any man of common sense, whether reading, writing, drawing, music, 
dancing, walking , and, finally, all kinds of mechanical arts, are taught analyti¬ 
cally ? I ask, whether little children begin to run, and then analyse a trip, in 
order to learn the steps of which a trip is composed ? Whether they w ho learn 
dancing cut pigeon-wings first, and then analyse them, to learn their compo¬ 
nent parts ? Who has ever seen a shoemaker unmake a shoe, that is, analyse 
it, for the instruction of his apprentice boy! How then will he teach him 
shoemaking ? By teaching him first how to sew, how to cut a piece^to patch, 
to mend, to set a heel, or a sole, and, jby and by, after repeated experiments, he 
will let him try to cut and join the separate pieces of a shoe, till at last the 
boy, having learned how to combine its divers parts, will make a whole one. 
Who but a chemist can undertake, succeed in, and profit by the analysis of a 
substance ? 

Suppose Mr. D. take apart all the pieces of a clock, would he think that he 
had made the analysis of the clock? A clockmaker only, who is acquainted 
with a clock, is able to make its analysis : and should he find in the machine a 
single spring or wheel, of which he could not comprehend the action and effect, 
his analysis would stop there, and he would have obtained no knowledge, ex¬ 
cept that a spring or wheel unknown to him was in the clock 

Suppose Mr. Hufief should wish a clockmaker to teach him clock making, 
as he, Mr. D., teaches French, that is, analytically. The reluctant clockmaker, 
not to disoblige him, would begin by showing the whole clock, then he would 
unmake it, piece by piece, telling the name of every one, till the whole was 
analysed ; then Mr. Dufief would understand clock making just as w r ell as 
his French scholars understand French making. But, should the clock- 
maker be left free to teach, in the best manner his good sense might suggest to 
him, what would he do ? Why, he would first show Mr. D. how' to make, 
himself, every separate piece of a clock , beginning by the simplest; then he 
would explain to him the relationjvhich the two simplest parts have to one 


16 


it, with your habitual sagacity,) analysis, I say, does not consist hi 
merely observing the parts, for it i» perfect only, when it takes no¬ 
tice of the respective and general relations of the elementary parts, 
and even then practical knowledge cannot be obtained, if synthesis 
is not immediately and properly resorted to. 

Do you imagine, sir, that he who is ever so often shown the di¬ 
vers parts of a clock, will understand how to make and to combine 
them into a clock? No, no more than your scholars, even if it 
were possible for them to learn, pronounce, and remember all your 
sentences, would be enabled to combine language. A man who 
learns sentences by heart, is just as well informed concerning the 
language, as a person would be about clock making, who should 
be presented with boxes full of small and large wheels, screws, 
pins, &lc. I do not say that such a scholar could not, readily 
enough too, say : “ comment vous portez vous “ Bon jour, 

“ 11 fait beau terns;’' and a few of such everyday expressions, 
which any old illiterate woman can teach to a child; but 1 do as¬ 
sert, that two or three dozen, at most, of such sentences, badly 
pronounced, because learned from a book, would be the whole 
extent of his practical knowledge; as to his theoretical informa¬ 
tion, (I mean his capability to combine,) even concerning those 
very known sentences, it might be compared to the information 
about clock making, of him who should have a few clock wheels 
in his side pocket. 

Expatiating more and more upon your first error, you say, 
(page xci.) “ Language was made first, and grammar afterwards.” 
If by grammar you mean books, the saying is a trite one, and not 
worth printing; if you allow us to consider the word grammar in 
its real acceptation, your maxim is as rational as if you had said, 
“Clocks were made first, and clock making afterwards.” For 
there can no more be language without language making, which 
is grammar, than clocks without clock making, which is the art, 
the faculty of making clocks. 

1 am your obedient servant, 

J. 1V1ANESCA. 

another; and then he would teach him how to join them ; after this, lie would 
make him add a third, then a fourth, then a fifth part, taking care, in the mean 
time, to point out to him their respective and general relations; and by and by, 
Mr D. would succeed in understanding clock making, so far as to be able him¬ 
self to analyse a clock. It is very likely that two or three hundred lessons 
would not be too many to learn clock making, after that method of teaching; 
but what are these to attain perfection in so ingenious an art! 

To conclude: analysis is necessary to him whose business is to instruct 
others ; for, having to show the elements, and the combining of them, of course 
he must himself decompose : but his pupils have nothing to do with decompo¬ 
sition. Nature’s pupils never analyse : they extract parts, it is true, but it is to 
compose. 


LETTER lit 


Ml*. DuFJEFj 

The subject which furnishes the matter of these 
letters, is so extensive and so fruitful, that a book of the size of 
yours would hardly contain a full exposition of its divers parts ; 
but as, for many reasons, it is not convenient for me to write a 
book, no choice is left me but that of delineating, within compara¬ 
tively narrow limits, its most conspicuous and important branches. 
The public, I hope, and you, I suspect, will excuse me for not 
extracting any more from your Nature Displayed , and throwing 
into circulation, as I have done in my last, the precious ideas, 
which, like golden ore in a fertile mine, lay buried in its huge ca¬ 
pacity. The first duty of a writer, is to show his respect for the 
mental powers of his readers ; and when he has once pointed out 
to them the way, he must not presume they want his assistance to 
perceive that which, at every step, and from every direction, presses 
upon their senses. 

I think it has been sufficiently demonstrated to every candid man, 
first, that language, considered as an object of knowledge, is not 
such a trifle as you would fain have it to be believed; 2d!y, that 
phrases are not the materials, or, to mend your expression, the ele¬ 
ments of language ; from which last proposition, sound logic bids us 
conclude, that nature cannot , does not, teach language to man by 
means of whole sentences . 

This being the case, tell us, sir, what becomes of your method of 
teaching ? If it is made evident that nature teaches not by whole 
sentences , to what, we ask you, can we better compare your manner 
of teaching by whole phrases ready made, than to the way of any 
old illiterate woman, who, knowing no other trade, would set her¬ 
self ?ibout teaching little children to say “ how do you do, bring me 
my spectacles and the like? Nay, pardon me, you good, harmless 
woman, you spoil not your scholar’s pronunciation, for you use no 
books. (1) 

(1) When no improper means are used, the sounds and articulations of the 
French language will be easily acquired ; but it requires uncommon prudence 
and attention on the part of a teacher, and docility from the scholar, to keep the 
latter from accenting French as he does the English words. Such a habit, be¬ 
ing once contracted, cannot be eradicated, and it renders the speaking of our 
language extremely grotesque and ridiculous. 


If nature teaches by whole sentences, please, sir, to inform us, 
how her pupil can guess at the judgment or series of ideas, that a 
sentence is intended to represent ? You, profound inquirer into 
nature's laws,* tell us who is the interpreter for the child ?—The 
outward things ! which things ? Is he not surrounded, pressed 
by, immersed in things ? Do then explain to us how he will 
discriminate ? But, this is not all: anterior to the above difficulty, 
there is another which you do not appear to have even suspected ; 
yet one need not be a great philosopher to see that, before a child 
thinks of learning sentences, he must be aware that they are made 
for signs. What induced you to imagine that the child knows that 
sentences, which, to his ears are nothing but a succession of strange 
unmeaning sounds, are intended for signs, w hich he must attend to ? 
Reveal to us how he is made sensible of that preliminary and in¬ 
dispensable truth ?—Yet no: it would be cruel to press you so 
hard : let us, for argument’s sake, admit what is above your pow¬ 
er to explain, namely, that nature’s pupil is informed, in some 
way or other which you cannot tell, that a spoken sentence is in¬ 
tended for the sign of a judgment, which is in the mind of the speak¬ 
er ; still returning to the first started difficulty, we summon you to 
demonstrate to us, by what means nature’s pupil is led to hit upon 

The pure French, as far as I am informed, is the only tongue in Europe that 
has no accent. Proven^aux, Gascons, Languedocians, Basques, Bas-Bretons, 
and many others of our own country people, may pronounce our language with 
respect to sounds and articulations , as purely as the other French people; still 
they will accent osir words, as they are used from infancy to accent those of 
their home dialect, by which they are immediately detected by their other coun¬ 
trymen. Among those divers sectional accents, some are not unpleasant, others 
are more or less disagreeble to a French ear, but all want loftiness and dignity. 
Cato delivering his soliloquy with the Gascon accent, or Antony his funeral 
and incendiary speech in the Provencal way, would most surely produce upon 
French people effects which would set at defiance the best skill of Mather. 
That very English accent, made still more intolerable by a bad pronunciation 
of vowels and consonants , is the stumbling block of an American ; yet what 
may appear surprising is, that if properly guided, he will, sooner than the Pro¬ 
vencal and Gascon, succeed in speaking the French free from his own national 
accent. The reason, however, is obvious; the American scholar may be well 
advised before he speaks the French , that is, before he has contracted bad habits ; 
whereas, the Provencal, and the Gascon, speak the French at home in their way , 
before they think of, or even care for correcting themselves. 

Suppose a French book of phrases, to be learned by heart, is put in the hands 
of a scholar twenty years old, that is, a person who, for at least twelve years, 
has been used to give to letters and syllables, precisely the same as ours , a cer¬ 
tain value which is contrary to that which we give to them ; he goes home and 
commits the sentences t© memory, that is, he reads and repeats them by him¬ 
self, over and over, till he thinks he knows them ; now, the luckiest thing which 
may happen to him is, that he will immediately forget the whole, for there is, at 
least , twelve years against a few moments of hasty and superficial advice offered 
to his mind, engaged with many other things, that he will speak the little he 
inay remember in the most unintelligible and ridiculous manner. Such a pro¬ 
nunciation can never be made good. 

* One of the four lines which Mr. Du fief has engraved under his likeness 


the precise meaning of a sentence. Suppose a dog snatch a piece 
of bread from the child’s hand, and run away. The mother says, 
“ The dog has taken George’s bread.” What reason can the 
child have to think that the whole of that sentence does not mean 
the dog , or simply, the bread, or the act of running, perhaps of 
eating ? Why should he not as well believe that the sentence sig¬ 
nifies the feeling of hunger , the ideas of theft , of violence, or in¬ 
injustice, &ic. ? Neither do I see why, “ The dog has taken 
George's bread,” should not be construed by him into “ Dog! give 
back to George his bread,” or, in short, any other analogy. If 
you, sir, with the unspeakable advantage of a powerful mind, 
have been so far mistaken, as to imagine that there vyas no think¬ 
ing without speaking , no memory without external ears , how can 
you expect a child, who takes its first lesson, to perceive that which 
baffles the efforts of reason to explain ! You will, perhaps, tell us, 
that the child does not guess at the first trial, but that, after repeat¬ 
ed experiments, it at last succeeds; but we do not wish to know' 
when it guesses, we intreat you to tell us in what manner it is made 
to guess. Besides, we should have no sort of objection to grant 
you the experiments, if the dog were always at hand to snatch 
George’s bread, the very same piece of bread, from the same hand, 
in the same time, place, manner, circumstances, fyc. fyc. all things 
necessary to constitute identity in the judgment; else, how could 
the child imagine, that the same series of sounds represent a se¬ 
cond judgment, different in so many respects ? But not to cavil w ith 
you, sir, and, putting aside all those philosophical niceties; I say, 
that many days, perhaps several weeks, nay, a w hole year may 
pass, before the dog will snatch George’s bread ; therefore, there 
will be no more occasion for the sentence, which, of course, must 
become obsolete. Mind, sir, that any other phrase 1 might have 
chosen, would equally answer my purpose, for, I would in the same 
manner prove to you, that it would run the same chance of being 
seldom or never repeated to the child; consequently, we can easily 
conceive a new trial at every sentence spoken, but as it is never or 
hardly ever the same, we perceive no experiments. Yet it is only 
by dint of experiments that there is any learning of language ; 
without frequent recurrences there can be no impressions made, no 
associations, no memory, no practice, no exercise, no habits of pro¬ 
nunciation : this is precisely your mode of teaching, but it is not 
nature’s. 

Another query. Thanks to the arts of writing and printing, the 
sentences in your system are bounded right and left by officious 
margins, which protect them from each other’s contact, so that, 
like so many jewels in their case, they are perfectly distinguished 
by the eye, and your pupils, consequently, will never take two for 
one. But we are curious to hear from you, how a child can, with 


20 


the same precision, extract from the speech of those who surround 
him, a single sentence, and not a word\ more or less? 

If I were allowed to express my opinion upon that subject, I 
should say, that a child sees, hears, is surrounded by individuals 
only, and that, consequently, as soon as he has been so lucky as to 
guess that vocal sounds are intended for signs, he must necessarily 
apply them to individuals. Indeed, the real difficulty which an 
observer has to encounter, when he attentively examines nature’s 
process in her teaching, is to find out how the child is led to per¬ 
ceive that sentences, ever so long, are not intended for simple signs. 

“ How do you call this? how do you call that?” are the con¬ 
stant questions* of a foreigner who arrives in a strange country; 
not once in a hundred times will he be heard to inquire after the 
meaning of a whole sentence; and when he does, it is always fora 
phrase of an immediate, use and pressing necessity , or for one of 
those very few sentences, which, in civil life, must be spoken twen¬ 
ty times in a day. For instance: “How do you call this, or 
that?” “ Good day “ Good morning “ How do you do?” 
and a few more of the kind, which are no proofs that a language 
must be taught by whole phrases. I should be glad to know if 
deaf and dumb children are taught language by whole sentences! 

A sentence is a compound sign, expressing a group of indivi¬ 
duals; and when the child succeeds in really understanding a sen¬ 
tence, it is after, and because, he has been enabled, in some way or 
other, to distinguish everj' one of its elements, and recognise in 
each the particular sign for each of the parts of the group ; for a 
sentence cannot be conceived otherw ise than as is the group it is 
intended to represent, that is, through its elementary parts. A 
child could not be made sensible of the snatching of a piece of 
bread by a dog, if the dog, the act, and the bread,, did not each se¬ 
parately strike his perceptive powers; in a like manner, the vo¬ 
cal proposition which is intended for the compound sign of such a 
scene, will never be comprehended by him, unless he has before 
been made acquainjLed With the intent of each of its separate parts. 
Nature, consequently, teaches not language by whole sentences. 

What would a child do with a whole sentence, even if, at the 
first hearing, he could have suspected its import, its meaning, and 
pronounced, learned, and remember it ? Use it! But there is no 
occasion for his using it: have we not seen that the scene , which 
produces the series of ideas expressed by that sentence, is not like¬ 
ly to recur twice in the course of a whole year? and is it not evi¬ 
dent, that the learning of the child, being useless to him, w ould soon 
be forgotten ? 

Again : if nature teaches by whole sentences, which does her 
pupil learn first? He incessantly hears people talking around 
him; what choice will he make? Will you say that the phrases 
which interest him will be learned first? I will not object again, 


21 


that no choice can possibly be made before all the sentences are 
understood, for it would be driving you again into the very same 
corner where you have just been so uncomfortably placed ; but 1 
will reply to you, that nothing (2) of what others say, or feel, in¬ 
terests the child ; for it is not the wants, the ideas of others , it is 
his own wants and ideas which interest him, and which he may feel 
inclined to express : the phraseology of the persons who surround 
him, having no sort of analogy to what he feels, cannot, therefore, 
attract his notice. 

Now, if a child has a want which he is anxious to express, who 
can guess at that want, in order to teach him the sentence which 
expresses it f And should somebody be so lucky as to guess at 
it, and tell him the phrase, how could the child know that it is a 
sign, and that such a sign is the expression of his want? If you 
succeed in explaining, satisfactorily, the difficulties that I have just 
presented to you, l shall believe that nature teaches by whole sen¬ 
tences, that you have truly discovered her secret, and that your 
system of teaching is a rational one. 

You will be pleased, sir, to bear in mind, that my object being 
only to demonstrate that nature teaches not by sentences, and that 
your mode of teaching after that manner cannot be nature’s me¬ 
thod, I am not bound to any thing, besides making my arguments 
good and conclusive concerning that point. My proving that you 
are not the favourite of nature, and that you possess none of her 
secrets, does not imply that I am under the obligation of showing 
that I am much in ore acquainted with her than you are, and in any 
way in her confidence. I hope I shall make it evident that your 
system is bad ; but it will not follow, that I must present the world 
with a good one: nay, even not that I have a better one than 
yours. I disclaim all such consequences. I am a poor, obscure, 
very scantily informed individual, whose talents consist in a cer¬ 
tain tact in detecting the errors of others, without even sufficient 
sense to mend his own, and who lays claim to no sort of personal 
merit, except that of being instinctively sensible that he is himself 
full of faults. 

I resume my arguments. I have already said, that the child is 
surrounded bj' individuals only; that he sees, hears, feels only in¬ 
dividuals. If that is true, his wants must partake of the character 
of his feelings, and the signs he needs to express those wants, are 
merely signs of individuals : therefore, his attention can be alive 

(2) Even grown people are more inclined to express their ideas than to hear 
those of others ; and it is not a little curious, that that natural disposition to 
prefer talking to suffering others to talk, is stronger with those whose moral con¬ 
stitution is more like that of children. The effects are somewhat different 
though, for talkative children learn, whilst adults, who are great talkers, seldom 
acquire much information. 


only to the simplest elements of language, which are words , not 
sentences. 

But does he learn them by heart, in rotation ? Will he provide 
himself with a great stock of words, to keep them for future use ? 
NO. 

Here I will stop a moment; for, notwithstanding my formal de¬ 
claration to the contrary, I must treat you and the reader with one 
more extract from JYature Displayed ; it relates to that part of the 
subject which I am at present discussing, and plainly shows how 
closely you have watched nature : 

“ The fact that infants are instructed in language by detached 
phrases, and not otherwise, every discerning mother will be ready 
to acknowledge; for, if they were not taught in such a manner, un¬ 
til they retained the vast catalogue of the names of things, they 
would either remain speechless, or perhaps mutter an unintelligible 
jargon , like the confusion of tongues at the building of Babel . 
The reason of teaching a language by phrases , and not by single 
ivords , is obvious: the name of a thing, for instance, merely re¬ 
calls an object to the mind, but it can neither express an action 
performed on it, nor convey an idea relative to it. A word , there¬ 
fore, that expresses no thought or action , has no force by itself, and 
only serves as a link in the chain that makes up a phrase, or com¬ 
plete sense. Even supposing that an infant might learn a number 
of solitary words, yet being unacquainted with the sense of the 
phrases by which the mother interrogates it, it will naturally, 
through fear , utter something ; it then follows, that an infant may 
as well utter the words horse or house, as ox or elephant , though 
the latter terms might be more applicable to the subject, and more 
pertinent in reply to the question. Thus, even if possessed of a 
long list of unmeaning sounds, or mere names of things , without 
any idea of their relative uses and qualities, the infantine palace 
of memory might truly be said to be furnished with useless lumber. 
What would it avail with respect to the acquisition of language, to 
know the names of all animals of the creation, the necessary articles 
of life, &c. without a connexion ? Not a straw ! Were the mental 
store-house stocked in such a manner, what would be the result? 
Ridicule! more laughable than the offspring of the fabled moun¬ 
tain !” 

The above paragraph is followed by another quite as curious in 
every respect; but as the reader may read it in the original, with 
many more no less instructive, I will content myself by transcribing 
the beginning of it, i» order to present the world with a singular 
instance of that instinctive sincerity naturally implanted in the 
heart of man, and stronger than reflection and will itself. You 
say, with an amiable naivete, which does you great credit: “ In 
short, there is no need of argument to prove that language is only 
a collection of sentences or phrases,” &c. Any one a little versed 


in these matters, is confident, that no sort of argument is to be met 
with in your ’ ook ; but few, indeed, would have suspected that you 
had not tried your best to make some. Your candid declaration 
will be duly appreciated by every reader. 

At any rate, argument or no argument, nobody can deny, that 
among many remarkable tilings in the foregoing extract, your 
flight upon the tower of Babel is particularly calculated to suggest 
awful ideas : only think, sir, if the motley multitude who were build¬ 
ing it, had been in possession of your book ! there is no telling, 
indeed, how far the designs of God might have been defeated. 

Then, sir, without arguments, you take it for a fact, that infants 
are instructed in language by detached phrases, and not otherwise , 
for no other reason than that they would remain speechless, or mut¬ 
ter unintelligible jargon, if they were taught a vast catalogue of the 
names of things ? Please, sir, to tell us the names of those discern¬ 
ing mothers, who have made you believe that infants would have 
to learn a vast catalogue of names , if they were not taught by heart 
a vast catalogue of sentences. You are a bachelor, I believe; may 
we not naturally suppose that you have never had much chance to 
judge for yourself, and that you have too implicitly relied upon the 
saying of some waggish mothers, who preferred sporting to contra¬ 
dicting you? Woman, sir, is the very creature to hit upon our 
weak side, and profit by it. Are you certain of not having suffer¬ 
ed the penetrating female wit to perceive that your system was ir¬ 
revocably framed, and that by all means you must have corrobora¬ 
tive facts ? Besides, you are sweet-tongued with the fair sex ; in 
exchange for your compliments upon their fine eyes, rosy lips, and 
the like, may they not have thought it a good bargain to yield to 
you, that there were but two ways by which their babies could pos¬ 
sibly learn their language, viz. by a vast series of sentences, or 
a vast catalogue of words? Hercules spinning at the feet of Om- 
phale, is a serious hint to philosophers. 

“ The reason,” say you, “ that language is taught by sentences, 
not by single words, is, that the name of a thing merely recalls an 
object to the mind.” Why ! would you think it clearer if the name 
of a thing should recall two or three objects ? This strange rea¬ 
son why language cannot be taught by words, is a curious speci¬ 
men of your predilection for the complex. According to that sin¬ 
gular doctrine, we should have a clearer idea of the w ord one , if it 
meant two or three at the same time. Or, you would, perhaps, 
like it better, if a word signified no object at all. Another 
convincing reason why language is not taught by words, is, 
that, instead of saying horse, the child would say ox l A tighter 
dialectic is seldom met with. Again: because each word, bread , 
for instance, does not, at the same time, signify cut, eat , me, /, it 
follows, that “ the child ivould have a long list of unmeaning sounds, 
of mere names of things, without any idea of their relative uses and 


qualities” which, of course, signifies, that in learning single words, 
a child would not learn their meaning, whereas in committing to 
memory a series of whole sentences, he would comprehend and 
learn the signification of their words ! From a man who would 
still retain sufficient powers of perception to distinguish his nose 
from a needle-case, such reasoning would hardly be expected* 
At thoughts so extraordinary, the reader drops the book, rubs 
his eyes, and thinks that he has misunderstood the meaning 
of the author. Let us see again : “ By learning by single 
words, a child would'not get to the meaning of a sentence; but 
by committing whole sentences to memory, he would acquire the 
signification of the words.” If that is not the substance of your 
paragraph, I must confess, that J neither comprehend a sentence 
nor a word of it. Yet, after consideration, and for the honour 
of human nature, I will not admit that you are capable of having 
conceived ideas so foolish. I prefer to see, in that so apparently 
absurd theorem of yours, a natural consequence of your total ig¬ 
norance of the philosophy of human language, which has led you 
to spoil your premises with the term word, in a limited and un¬ 
warrantable acceptation. I am the more inclined to think, that 
by words , you only mean the nouns of physical objects , that you 
have several times explicitly intimated it, in the paragraph which 
ends thus: “What would avail, with respect to the acquisition of 
language, to know the names of all the animals of the creation, 
the necessaries of life , &c. without connexion ?” Then you very 
judiciously answer: “Not a straw.” For once, I am happy to 
Say, that my opinion coincides with yours; for it appears to me 
incontestable, that the knowledge of all the names of all the ani¬ 
mals of the creation, and hecessaries of life, ever so well known, 
would not enable a man to understand or speak a language; but 
how this constitutes a reason, why the learning of sentences ready 
made would teach the signification of words, and why language 
cannot be taught otherwise than by whole sentences by rote, is a 
thing which you did not choose to explain to us. 

What are we then to infer from that doctrine of yours, sir? that 
your knowledge of the philosophy of human language extends j'ist 
far enough to enable you to ascertain the existence of words, which 
are names of animals and necessaries of life, whilst it leaves you in 
the dark as to that of those which express their relations and con¬ 
nexions ; and that your perceptive faculties are sufficiently acute 
to perceive, and make you comprehend, how children can learn 
the physical words, but that they are too blunt to make you sensi¬ 
ble that all words whatever are upon an equality in the system of 
nature. 

Ignorance, a want of acuteness, in a fellow creature, are de¬ 
fects to which we should all be indulgent; but who can help 


2 r o 

laughing at the folly of him who pretends to make those very 
deficiencies of his mind subservient to his convincing others ! 

To resume my arguments, I say ; Does the child learn by heart, 
in rotation, does he commit to memory, or, in other terms, does 
he make any provision of words, in order to have his mental store¬ 
house provided for future use? I answer, NO: for such a thing 
is useless, it is impossible, it is absurd. No vocal sign can be no¬ 
ticed, attended to, and learned by the child, before he feels an urgent 
want, which renders necessary the immediate and frequent use of 
that sign. The child ostensibly begins the practical study of his 
mother tongue, as soon as he is made sensible that his native lan¬ 
guage of pantomimic signs begins to be inadequate to the expression 
of his increasing wants. It is only then , that his anxiety to com¬ 
municate what he feels, disposes him to turn his attention to vo¬ 
cal sounds, which, before that moment, he did not mind any more 
than other common sounds. The first time a new want, expressed 
by the child in his native language, happens to be misunderstood, 
he is forcibly made to experience the necessity of some more suc¬ 
cessful mode of conveying his new idea; (3) it is about that time, 
that after many disappointments, the first vocal sign is at last 
guessed at, tried, ascertained, stammered over, and adopted for in¬ 
cessant use ; for at that period of life, the same wants frequently 
recur, and so also, the terms which express them must be often re¬ 
sorted to. A child’s wants are few, their increase is slow ; there¬ 
fore, plain common sense, (philosophy is nothing else,) tells us that 
the demand for new signs to express them, must bear an exact pro¬ 
portion with their moderate increase. This plain, lucid, and cau¬ 
tious onset of nature, displays at once before us the beautiful 
simplicity of her system of imparting knowledge to her pupil. 

(3) If we attentively observe children at that epoch, we shall see that their 
bad humour, fretting, and cries, are the spiteful expressions, and utmost elForts 
of their disappointed pantomimic eloquence ; it is the critical time when, made 
more and more sensible of the inadequacy of their native signs, they are 
prompted by necessity to turn their attention to vocal signs. 

A child whose wants should be anticipated, would, I believe, make slow 
progress in the learning of his mother tongue. We ought not to consider as 
genuine progress, certain words and phrases, which parents and nurses teach 
to children, and make the latter repeat before friends and strangers, in order to 
render them more interesting ; for the young ones most certainly do not under¬ 
stand the meaning of those words or sentences which may be said to have been 
learned by heart. There are few persons who are sufficiently aware how in¬ 
finitely simple must be the things presented to the perception of little children ; 
the practice of teaching words or phrases to them is extremely mischievous, 
because it occupies their minds to no useful purpose, and turns their attention 
fVom the real lessons of nature, with which they are incessantly engaged. Ano¬ 
ther thing that I would recommend to parents and nurses, is to speak sparingly 
to their children* and articulate and pronounce slowly, distinctly, and the 
best they can when addressing them : the infantine mode of speaking to little 
children with half articulated words, is pernicious, as it gives them a false idea 
of the vocal signs. 


4 


Is it necessary to' be a great philosopher, to observe that a child 
twelve or fifteen months old, having but his immediate and limited 
wants to attend to, for the expression of which he is provided with 
his native signs , cannot be supposed to have the least occasion for 
the names of the things which surround him , still less of all the 
animals of the creation and necessaries of life , fyc. ? Only look, 
sir, to a child at such an age, and you will see that his natural signs 
are fully sufficient to express the ideas which he cares for commit- 
nicating; nay, you will soon perceive that those native signs im¬ 
part his ideas more forcibly and successfully than we can express 
ours with the vernacular tongue. 

We must conclude that the pupil of nature does not give up his 
native signs , because he begins the practical study of his mother 
tongue, but that he only seeks to supply the occasional partial 
deficiency and failure of natural signs, by corresponding vocal 
signs, of the virtue of which he is more and more convinced by 
experience. 

When a child is heard to use a new word, we are then to con¬ 
clude, that he has substituted a new sign, which is better understood, 
for a natural one, which answered not his purpose. When we 
hear a child speak even a single word , we must conclude, that he 
has expressed a whole proposition with his native signs, except the 
new word he has spoken, which new word fills the place of a natu¬ 
ral sign, which experience has proved ineffective. 

Thus it is that the pupil of nature is allowed to use his native 
signs, and never compelled to care for , notice, adopt, and learn a 
vocal sign, unless such sign has become necessary to fill the place 
of a natural sign misunderstood. Thus it is that the child, having 
a language of his own, which fails him but gradually, and part af¬ 
ter part only , is but gradually led to adopt, use, and practise, part 
after part only , the vocal language as a necessary substitute: it 
follows, that he has no more occasion for a vast number of words , 
than for a series of sentences ready made. By that admirable 
process of substitution, which is a literal translation , not only the 
necessary names of things and animals are successively learned in 
their proper season , but every word whatever , expressing connexion , 
relation , and every combination; in short, language, with all its 
modulations, each particular, in its turn, and time, in conformity 
with the increase and succession of new wants, the necessity of ex¬ 
pressing which is the sole power that gives the momentum to the 
progress of nature’s pupil in the practical study of the vernacular 
language. 

The limits which I have prescribed to myself, do not permit me 
to expatiate any longer upon this interesting subject, which, until 
the present day, has been too little attended to ; but I hope I have 
sufficiently sketched its principal outlines, to enable mv readers to 


27 

avail themselves of every-day experience, and examine more mi¬ 
nutely nature’s inimitable mode of teaching language to children. 

Every thing in nature’s system is distinct, clear, striking, slow 
gradual, and effective; there is no hurry, no violence, in her ope¬ 
rations ; what is not learned now, will be wanted and compre¬ 
hended at another moment; what is actually taught, is for present 
and incessant use. The lesson learned is well and for ever known, 
for its piototype is permanently impressed upon the feelings and 
the mind. No sentences by the lump, no vocabulary, no phrases 
by heart for future use, no rules by anticipation, no generalizing 
upon unknown things, for die sake of despatch ; time is of no con¬ 
sequence ; progress is the only object, and progress is constant 
and certain, for the scholar is paid by the master. 

Such, sir, is the rough outline of nature’s mode of teaching, 
which mode bears not the remotest resemblance to your wholesale, 
precipitated, chaotic teaching, diametrically different in all its parts, 
and necessarily pregnant with all the mischievous evils which re¬ 
sult from an entire and constant violation of nature’s immutable 
laws. 

It is my intention to show, in my next and last letter, that the 
teaching of language by heart , in rotation, as you understand and 
practise it, is at variance with the relations which exist between 
language and the human intellect, that such process does not enter 
into nature’s system, and that your adopting it, which plainly de¬ 
monstrates your ignorance of the constitution of that mode of the 
mind called memory, is itself sufficient to render your system of 
teaching absurd, fruitless, and hurtful. 

I am your servant, 

J. MANESCA. 


LETTER IV. 


Mr. Dufief, 

I consider the subject of this letter an important one, which 
concerns not only you, but all men whose profession is to convey knowledge 
to their fellow creatures. That subject is MEMORY. 

We have not as yet a sound theory of the human intellect, and the na¬ 
ture of memory is consequently little understood ; it is not surprising, there¬ 
fore, that that mode of the mind is so greatly misused in the general system 
of schools, and that you, sir, with sonrm writers whose errors you have adopt¬ 
ed, are of opinion, that to learn a language, nothing is necessary but to 
commit to memory a vast number of words , or an octavo full of sen¬ 
tences. You have given the preference to sentences; and my readers, I 
hope, are now perfectly acquainted both with your reasons for having made 
so exquisite a choice, and mine for having condemned it. 

Rut, sir, when you first planned the teaching of a language by heart, did 
you not question, for once, the possibility of so tremendous an intellectual 



28 




teat ? (1) I admit that, with the assistance of metaphors, one finds no great 
difficulty in converting the human intellect into a store house , (2) a repo¬ 
sitory, a palace, or even a side-pocket; but it is not so easily conceived 
how the human mind can be replenished with ideas in the same manner, 
and as easily, as a side-pocket can be filled with pennies, or a palace with 
furniture. 1 believe 1 have already hinted, that figures of rhetoric may do 
very well for newspaper advertisements, but that they will never agree 
with speculative philosophy. 

You must undoubtedly possess a most extensive and powerful memory; 
you, who have never questioned the possibility of learning your big book of 
phrases by heart—you, who speak of committing a whole language by rote, 
with as much sangfroid as if you spokte of eating an oyster! What do 
you think, then, of favouring us with a small specimen of your retentive 
faculties ? Just recite to us three pages of your Nature Displayed ; or, if 
you like it better, only repeat unhesitatingly three hundred words of your 
mother tongue. You cannot but find this last feat an easy one, for you 
know by heart the Words of your own language ; open your mental store¬ 
house, they will, no doubt, rush out at your command. Will you have 
something still easier ? recite backwards even the title page of your 
own book, which f mean the title page) you most certainly must know 
by heart. 

Why, sir, to recite backwards your title page, is above your power? 
You cannot repeat three hundred words of your mother tongue, every one 
of which, you have a thousand times used in vour life!—\ 7 ou, who have 
composed your book, written it, copied it over for the press, read, cor¬ 
rected, and revised it many times; you, who have taught thousands of 
scholars with it, who, in short, should know it by heart , are unable even to 
recite three pages of it! and still you pretend that, in thirty-six lessons , 
given in a time hardly sufficient for any one to read the half of it through, 
you pretend, 1 say, that a scholar can learn, pronounce , retain, and know 
its contents, so as to make a practical use of them, according to the flow of 
his ideas, and with the velocity of his thoughts ! Indeed, sir, when you 
contrived the wild project of teaching language by heart, you must have 
put aside all the suggestions of common sense, or made a most extra¬ 
ordinary estimate of the superiority of the minds of your fellow mortals, 
over your own ! (3j 

(1) What a delicious task it would be, to learn by heart a full octavo of Chinese 
sentences. It must be observed, that the time prescribed by Mr. Dufief, to learn 
those sentences, that is, to make a good scholar in French, Spanish, or the Chi¬ 
nese language, would not suffice to read his book through once. 

(2) When we see the mighty mind of Locke prostrated before those shadows, 
can we refrain from pitying human nature, and trembling for ourselves ? 

(3) We are at a loss to imagine what conception Mr Dufief has formed 
of human memory and language , when we see him presuming to convey any 
idea of the latter, by overloading the former, with a full book of phrases of the 
following description: (see his vocabulary, p. 1.)—“ Lend me one of your books j 
he has just broken one. of the bottles ; he lives three doors from here; his grand¬ 
father was a hundred years old when he died ; his grandmother is still alive ; 
his great-grandfather died last year; he is grandson of a very learned man : 
his brother is a merchant in Jamaica : his sister was married to a sea-captain. 5 ’ 


29 

MEMORY, sir, considered as the recollection of past ideas, is not ajjo - 
sitive faculty, which is dependent on man’s will; for if it were so, a per¬ 
son who is said to have a good memory, would be enabled to recollect, at 
his will, his past ideas ; any man could remember at pleasure, things which 
he knew best, the words of his own language, for instance, which is evi¬ 
dently not the case. \i memory were a positive faculty, depending on vo¬ 
lition, as are seeing, walking, speaking, eating, for instance 5 we could as 
readily recite backwards the song which we sing, with so great ease, from 
the beginning to the end. Let any man try to repeat two or three scores 
of the words ot his own language; after the first dozen or two, which will 
certainly be the names of surrounding objects , or of those things he is 
most familiar with, he will begin to flag, and find himself at a loss, notwith¬ 
standing his best exertions, which evidently proves that memory is no more 
at the disposal of our will, than the circulation of our blood is. It is in 
consequence of that constitutional principle of memory, that the child un¬ 
der the tuition of nature, increases his stock of words very slowly, and 
uses for a great while those he has already received, before he admits a 
new one. 

What is memory but the necessary result of associations ? By associa¬ 
tions, we must understand the immediate connexion between antecedents 
and consequents. 

When, for instance, we count one, two, three, four, &c. we repeat these 
numbers with much more facility than when we say them backwards. Why ? 
because, from our infancy, we have been used to associate one with two, two 
with three, and so on ; whilst we have not so well attended to the inverted 
order of those numbers ; that is, 20 before 19, 19 before 18, and so on, 
which causes the latter associations to be weaker than the former ; and 
consequently, our memory is readier in the direct than the inverted order. 
Memory, therefore, depends altogether upon associations. 

in every individual, memory is exactly the consequence of the associa¬ 
tions of his own ideas The more a man’s ideas are diversely associated, 
the more chance each of them has to be actually recalled by any one of 
them present in his mind, and the greater then is his memory. The 
less the past ideas of a man are associated with each other, the less is the 

Without knowing a word of French, any person has only to peruse the F.n- 
glish part of Mr. Dufief’s book, to be satisfied that there is no more connexion 
any where to be found between his sentences, than there is among those I have 
just quoted. For my part, I do not see in tiiose phrases any thing besides what 
is to be met with in those which might be extracted from any book ; and 1 have 
tried my best to discover in those sentences, that wonderful secret, which na¬ 
ture has revealed to Mr. Du fief, but I have tried in vain ; 1 believe the best 
account of this wonderful secret, which Mr. D. himself could give of it, is as fol¬ 
lows:— I impress a particular word of each sentence upon my scholar’s mind, 
which word is necessarily associated with the rest of the sentence, and will not 
fail when recollected , to cause the whole sentence to be remembered. His grand¬ 
father, for instance, will suggest to the mind the remainder of the sentence, zoas 
a hundred years old when he died. Besides, it is <k incontrovertible” that his 
grandfather will at any time recall his grandmother, and the latter being in like 
manner associated to, is still alive , will most surely occasion the recollection of it. 
Then, as his grandmother is in close intimacy with his great-grandfather , she 
will start him up. who, in his turn, will stir up his grandson, who will elbow his 
brother , who will wake his sister , and so on, from the beginning of my book to 
its end ; for, like nature’s, all my system is linked together— with italics. 


‘30 


chance that one of those ideas actually in the mind, will reproduce one of 
the other past ideas; the less, therefore, is his memory. 

A person who should have never learned the numbers in any other way 
than from one to two, two to three, &c. which we may call the simplest 
associations , would not be able, without the greatest effort, to recite the 
numbers in the inverted order; if he had learned and equally practised 
numbers in both orders, he would, with equal facility, repeat them in both 
directions. It might be said that such a person knew numbers by two as¬ 
sociations, and his memory, with respect to numbers, would be exactly dou¬ 
ble that of him who should know them by one association only. But, if q. 
person, besides learning numbers by these two associations, had been used 
to associate in his mind, one with three, three with five, five with seven, and 
so on, it is equally evident, that this memory, with regard to numbers, 
would be extended by a treble association, and, consequently, be more ex¬ 
tensive than that of him who could only repeat them in the direct and in¬ 
verted order. 

Thus, by increasing the number of associations, we might suppose a 
man who, at the actual idea of any given number, would, without effort, 
without any interference of his will , immediately think of any number 
whatever. Such a man would possess the maximum of memory with re¬ 
spect to numbers. Now, such is the memory requisite to master a language 
with the velocity of thought; and that memory , which evidently is the ef¬ 
fect of a multiplication of associations, is an acquired faculty. 

When a man actually remembers a past idea, it is because the idea which 
immediately preceded it, that is, its antecedent , has brought it into his 
mind. 

When a man cannot recollect a past idea, it is because the actual idea 
in his mind is not associated, or not sufficiently associated, with the wished- 
for past idea. A being whose each individual idea should be equally asso¬ 
ciated with every one of his other ideas, would at the same time remember 
all his ideas at once. Such a being would possess the maximum of univer¬ 
sal memory. He would have at the same moment in his mind, all his past 
and present ideas. God is the only intelligence whom we can suppose to 
possess such an infinite memory. A being whose individual idea should 
be associated with none of his past ideas, would have no memory at all. 
The human intellect lies, and is graduated, between those two extremes, and 
it approaches the one or the other in proportion to the thinking faculties 
as they are more or less exerted. Teachers of youth, reflect upon this ! 

Thinking is an act of the mind which multiplies associations. He who 
thinks more, acquires more memory upon the subject of his thoughts; he 
who thinks less, has less memory. That memory which consists in recol¬ 
lecting series, dates, ideas, words or sentences in rotation ; in short, that 
memory which is the result of the simplest associations, is the memory of 
the unthinking; it may be useful for some professions, but, in my humble 
opinion, it is the bane of sound teaching and genuine learning. 

We know things, we master and use them, in the same manner that we 
have learned them. There are things which we need not know otherwise 
than by the simplest associations, that is, from the beginning to the end ; 
a song, for instance, is sufficiently known, when learned from its first to its 
last word ; there is no necessity to learn it from its end to its beginning. 
But is language a song ? Allow me, sir, to relate to you a little story which 
has just been brought to my mind by associations. 


“How is the wind, Bob ?' 7 asked the captain of a ship, addressing the 
steersman. u Nord-east-by-Nord, sir , 77 was the instantaneous answer of the 
tar. A jocular monk, who was a passenger, drew near the sailor ; “ My 
son , 77 said he to him, “ 1 heard thee swear like a demon during the storm ; 
dost thou know thy prayers as well as thy sea-compass ? 77 “ No , 77 replied 

Bob, “ for I can tell you, father, that 1 know my sea-compass a damn sight 
better than even you knew your prayers . 77 “ Thou art joking, son ; 77 “ Quite 
In earnest, father . 77 Upon this, our tar began thus : “ Nord—nord-west-by- 
nord—nord-nord-west , 77 and so on, till he had turned round and got to the 
Nord again. “Now, father , 77 said Bob, “ try your turn . 77 The monk re¬ 
cited his pater noster in a very handsome style. “ That is clever , 77 ob¬ 
served the son of Neptune; “ 7 tis mine now . 77 Then he went on, “ Nord 
Nord-east-by-Nord—Nord-nord-east, &c., till he had come to the word 
again. “ Well, father , 77 said he with a grin, “give us your prayer back¬ 
wards . 77 Backwards ! I can 7 t hoy : I have never learned it but in one 
way 5 it is not necessary . 77 “ Then , 77 observed the triumphant sailor, “ I 
know my sea-compass better than you know your prayers, for I can tell it 
in a thousand ways . 77 Bob has just told us how a language must be learned 
and known. 

For a language is not a song, or a prayer, or the sum of a certain num¬ 
ber of words or sentences constantly succeeding each other in the same 
order, invariably presenting to the mind the same antecedents and conse¬ 
quents ; language is the result of the infinite combinations of ?l finite num¬ 
ber of words ; and in order to know and use it, as it is, we must learn and 
practise it in every possible order, so that, by multiplying associations, and 
extending infinitely the memory, we may enable ourselves to compose it 
with the velocity of thought. 

Let us suppose an immense circle, each point of the circumference of 
which communicates with every other point, and with an intelligent eye 
in the centre, at whose least wink, any of those points, or combinations of 
them , flash in and out with the rapidity of lightning : such is language in 
its relations to the human mind. 

No man can pretend to be master of a language, till the associations of 
words and their combinations have been uninterruptedly carried on by him 
to their ultimate limits. Nothing shows more evidently the ignorance of 
the nature of memory, than the idea, that the practical knowledge of a lan¬ 
guage can be acquired upon the benches of a school, or in the pages of a 
book. Upon the teacher, and th e first outset , depends, indeed, the success 
or total failure of the pupil. An intelligent teacher may devise the best 
means to facilitate the multiplication of associations, and make the task of 
a scholar comparatively easy ; but, farther than that, the extent of memory 
necessary to master a language, depends wholly upon industry, practice, 
and time. 

If, in the course of these letters, I have been so fortunate as to express 
my ideas with sufficient clearness, it must appear evident to you, sir, and to 
my other readers : 

1 st, That whole sentences ready made, constitute not the elements of lan¬ 
guage. 

2 dly, That nature does not tench language to man by whole sentences 
ready made, as you do. 


52 


0 021 817 324 

3 dly, That teaching by heart in rotation, that is, by the simplest asso¬ 
ciation , which does very well for a song, is infinitely insufficient for 
language from which truth it follows, that your mode of teaching phra¬ 
ses by heart in rotation, is infinitely insufficient. 

4thly, That the teaching of language is not such a bagatelle, and the 
acquiring of it so light a business, as you think them to be ; which fourth 
and last proposition should be strongly impressed upon the mind of youth 
and the public, in order that they who wish to acquire, in a proper manner , 
the knowledge of the French, Spanish, or any other living language, may 
be enabled to estimate the deserts of a teacher, and form a correct idea of 
the attention , industry , and perseverance, necessary to carry their contem¬ 
plated undertaking to a happy termination. 

Here, sir, before I close this letter, I will only add, that in all which I 
have said against your mode of teaching, as it is expounded in your Na¬ 
ture Displayed , I have taken for granted, that your plan was followed by 
an intelligent teacher, like yourself, for instance, with one single scholar ; 
for I could not, for a single moment, entertain so mean an opinion of the 
common sense of mankind, as to believe that they would not readily per¬ 
ceive the effects of your circular process, when applied to a numerous 
class; and l trust, that the public will now understand (he true import 
of your favourite phrase, u the m >re the better ” 

I am your obedient servant, 

J. MANESCA. 


























